Ardent
by allonsysilvertongue
Summary: Haymitch wanted peace. Effie wouldn't stop talking. Smut. (& any other one shot I write that contains smut)
1. Chapter 1

Rated M for language and graphic sex.

**Disclaimer: Haymitch & Effie will never be mine. They rightfully belong to Collins.**

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Haymitch saw red and his vision began to narrow as the anger spread through his body, hot as molten lava. Both of his Tributes had just been mercilessly killed, barely lasting half an hour into the game. One had been brutally beaten up and stabbed by a pack of Careers, the other had been buried and drowned in a pit of quicksand.

He stormed out of the Games Headquarters and marched furiously towards the direction of the Penthouse. He wasn't needed at the Games Headquarters anymore and Hell would freeze over before he willingly mingled with sponsors and Gamemakers alike.

Effie ran after the inebriated mentor in her high heels, her tiny steps hardly a match against his long strides.

"Wait, Haymitch!"

"Go back, Trinket. Leave me alone."

She did none of those, of course. Effie knew that if left alone in such a state, Haymitch would most likely wound up in trouble - too drunk to even know what he was doing. She made the mistake of leaving him to his own devices after the deaths of their tributes two years ago and he had ended up detained in jail for being a public nuisance, beating up two Capitol citizens who had made bets about the remaining Tributes. He was released because the Capitol still needed a mentor for next year's Games and he was the only living Victor in District Twelve.

Haymitch entered the elevator and furiously jabbed the button, willing the door to close before Effie could make it through. Much to his annoyance, the woman made it just in time, slipping between the closing elevator doors, panting from the run she had made.

"You shouldn't have left just like that! What would the Gamemakers think?"

He gulped down the remaining whiskey left in the bottle and cast it aside in frustration when he realised that there was no more liquid left. Haymitch felt the jacket of his pocket and uncapped his silver flask, tipping it into his mouth only to find out that even the flask was empty.

_Great. Stuck in an elevator with an annoying Escort._

"Shut up," he mumbled tiredly.

"You should have stayed, at least until the nightly anthem," she continued as though Haymitch had not just told her to be quiet, glancing briefly in disapproval at the discarded bottle.

"Shut up, Trinket."

She frowned but plod on. "We could have talked to the sponsors. Build a connection for next year when the Games –"

He gave a frustrated growled and backed her up against the elevator wall as he crashed his lips to her, kissing her hard. The first time he had ever kissed her, hard and rough enough to bruise her lips, she hadn't liked it. She had tried to tame him but he refused to back down and finally, she yielded - letting him have control, allowing him power over a Capitol citizen. There was no denying that Effie Trinket was desirable and that he wanted her, but he would do it on his own terms.

She tried to push him off, protesting weakly but he pressed her further into the wall, trapping her body with his making her unable to move. "Be quiet, Effs."

Haymitch knew how much she liked that nickname which he only ever called her when they were alone and he was proven right when she sighed and leaned against him. He kissed his way up the column of her throat - her smooth skin against the rough stubble of his cheek – his tongue darted out to trail against her jaw line.

Shoving his hand down her plunging neckline, he clumsily squeezed her breast through her bra. Haymitch was well-aware that he was drunk and that he was at that moment emotionally unstable, the anger still roaring in his blood. He knew he was taking it out on the only person there was – Effie. If he regretted it in the morning, it wouldn't be anything new. It wasn't as though he didn't have a list of things he regretted and felt guilty about.

Her fingers gripped his hair as he lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist. Haymitch kissed his way back to her lips, and moaned when her fingers raked lightly against his scalp. The elevator door opened and Haymitch was vaguely aware of him carrying her across the hallway towards their door. He slammed her against the door, their tongues still battling each other as Effie reached back to fumble with the knob with no apparent success. He let her down allowing her to open the door but his arm snaked around her waist and he ground his erection against her.

"Hurry and open the damned door, Effs," he growled in annoyance.

When it finally opened, he took her hand and twisted her around to face him, ignoring her yelp of pain. His large hand came up and close around her throat, slipping to the nape of her neck as he roughly pushed her back so that she fell back against the sofa.

He knelt by her side, his hand gliding up her thigh and into her skirt. Dropping a kiss to her inner thigh, Haymitch could already smell her arousal. He stroked her softly against the silk undergarments she was wearing. Effie whimpered, her hand combing his hair.

"Haymitch…," she breathed out when he lightly caressed her through the thin fabric. He looked up briefly to see Effie with her eyes closed, and mouth parted slightly. He went back to kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh, suckling on the skin and marring it. She hated it when he marked her but Haymitch lived to irritate her.

Pushing himself up slightly, he shifted his attention to her neck as his hand pulled down her undergarments. Haymitch thumbed her clit and she mewled under him. He felt the stirring low in his stomach and pushed his finger inside her.

With a finger curling inside, working her to a frenzy - he pushed her blouse off her shoulder. Pulling her red brassiere down and freeing one of her breasts, he palmed it and watched as Effie's face scrunched up with pleasure. He inserted another finger in, pumping them faster. His palm was large enough to cover her breast – squeezing it hard as he kissed her roughly on the mouth.

"Haymitch… Oh yes, right there… Oh…," she was near incoherent and with her walls already tightening around his fingers, Haymitch latched his mouth on one of her nipples and swirled his tongue around it.

She screamed his name as she came and he let her, knowing there was no one else around to hear them.

When he pulled his fingers out and licked them clean, he watched Effie watching him. It fascinated him the fact that half of the time, he could hardly tolerate being in the same room with the woman panting in front of him but craved the sound of her voice as she moaned his name.

Effie had a silly, satisfied smile on her face and Haymitch frowned at that sight. He couldn't explain the irritation he felt seeing her happy like that. Grabbing her hand, he hauled her to her feet.

"Stop fucking smiling, Trinket. There's nothing to be smiling about," he snarled, baring his teeth at her as he suddenly remembered the event that led them to their current situation - his two dead tributes.

Effie looked him with an arched eyebrow, clearly used to his angry mood swings especially when he was drunk.

Her hands reached down to the front of his pants, working deftly on the buckle of his belt and released his straining cock. The best way to deal with Haymitch when he was angry was to distract him. His alcohol usually worked until he passed out drunk and peace would once again settle in the Penthouse, but there were also other ways to distract the man from his own rage.

His hand gripped the back of the sofa as he felt her hand close around his shaft. His breathing quickened and became laboured as Effie worked her hands on him, her lips licking and nibbling on his ear lobe. Emboldened, she stroked him harder and he felt himself slowly losing control.

"Effs…," he grunted.

Smirking, Effie dropped to her knees and Haymitch knew what she was about to do. Quickly, he grabbed her arms and dragged her back to her feet, gaining back the control that was slowly slipping through his fingers. Somehow, in their tryst, they ended up at the kitchen, with her bent over the table.

"Haymitch? What are-" her voice sounded slightly panicky. This was new to her and Haymitch had never done this with her before. He had always brought her to either his or her room.

"Shut up. You talk too much, you know that?" he told her, as he yanked her skirt up to her waist. Haymitch was rewarded with the view of her ass in the air.

He had his hand at the back of her neck, pressing her down on the table. Effie could hear the rustling of clothes as Haymitch pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles and somehow that excited her – trapped on the table, in an uncharted territory.

He entered her and took her from behind. Effie cried out and her fingernails scratched against the table when she felt her walls stretching to accommodate him. Haymitch allowed Effie a small window to get used to him before he started picking up the pace, pounding furiously into her. His hand slipped down her front and began rubbing her swollen clit. She moaned loudly while he grunted in pleasure. His head was thrown back, his hips thrusting rhythmically against her.

He tiptoed slightly and leaned forward, testing out the new angle it provided. Effie's hips bucked in response and she pushed herself against him, driving him further inside her. Haymitch gripped her waist and tried to tame her erratic movement. At the same time, he dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder, tasting her delicious skin that was sleeked with sweat.

The sound of her moaning and panting his name over and over would be his undoing. "Come for me, Effs," he managed to say in between breaths.

He felt her coiling and writhing minutes before divine pleasure shook her body and she slumped against the table, boneless and pleasantly fucked. He gave a final thrust, burying himself deep inside her before he followed soon enough. His toes curled and his muscles tensed.

When he pulled out from her, Haymitch slumped against the kitchen seat, exhausted and spent. The anger had abated slightly, though now, his body craved for alcohol. Effie slid down the table and straightened her skirt. She sauntered over to him, caressed his cheeks almost lovingly and dropped a soft warm kiss on his lips.

He was still trying to get his breathing under control when he felt Effie press an unopened bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"You deserve it," she said a slight smile on her lips.

Haymitch tore his gaze away, ashamed and embarrassed. He knew that look, and he didn't like it one bit. What they were doing was just fucking to him, but to her it was something else. Those loving caresses and kisses she peppered him after each post-coital activity were indication that what she felt for him ran deeper than two people who merely slept with each other for comfort.

Well, she was the fool who was in love with him. He didn't owe her anything, not after what her people had done to him, but even as he made his way back to his room, he knew it was useless because deep within his hearts of hearts, Effie was his. And he, despite his persistent denials, care about her, too.

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A/N: I've never written anything this graphic before. :/ Oh well. Leave a review if you like it.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

This piece was requested by_ partieswithjaygatsby_ on Tumblr - _Haymitch and Effie having a intense sexual romance as teenagers and then them meeting after a couple of years to be mentors for their first hunger games together_?

**Disclaimer: Effie & Haymitch? Not mine.**

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The party was extravagant. Esteemed Capitol citizens, high enough in the social ladder to have received an invitation flocked to the President's mansion dressed in their finest to impress. The spread of food was enough to fit an entire district comfortably for a month with extra to spare during the next winter cold. The entertainment scheduled for the party promises a night of wild debauchery, of dancing and singing, of drinking and merrymaking, and most importantly, this was the Pre-Games party. A party that welcomed a new season of Hunger Games with the Reaping slated two weeks from now.

Haymitch eyed the bar which was crowded, much to his displeasure. But it was the only place he'd rather be, so he squeezed past the crowd to get to the other side of the room, to a glass of some strong liquor preferably.

A woman walked past him, the white feathers arranged perilously on her hair brushed against Haymitch's nose, her arm looped around a man with green highlights on his blonde hair gelled to perfection. He scrunched his nose and swatted the offending item away. The woman pinned him with a glare.

At nineteen and after nearly three years of the Capitol's shenanigans, Haymitch grew bored of these parties. The only silver lining was the bar with its wide array of liquor and cocktails. He sauntered over and leaned his weight heavily on the counter, waiting for an Avox to give him his shot.

"Well, aren't you a beauty?" he drawled, his eyes raking over the slim curvaceous figure in front of him.

The woman was in a body hugging one shoulder dark purple satin dress with intricate folding designs running diagonally down from below her busts to her waist, and when she moved, the lights reflected nicely off the dress. She turned, a frown marring her pretty face and it morphed into one of surprise when she saw who had spoken to her.

"Oh," she squeaked. "You're - you're District Twelve's victor. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

She held out her hand and he had a good look at her face for the first time. From his estimation, she couldn't be more than few years younger than him. But what snagged his interest was that she was different - her face was dusted in light make up, the mascara enhanced her green eyes, her lips coated with light pink lip gloss making it look natural and luscious, and he found himself wanting to have a taste of it. Her hair fell in soft ringlets around her shoulders. He noticed how healthy and silky, and no doubt soft her hair was. That was when he realized what set her apart from everyone else. She looked almost normal compared to the other women he's seen tonight and it puzzled him slightly.

"My name's Euphemia," she smiled, hands still outstretched. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Haymitch. If I may call you that?"

He took her hand and kissed the top of it. She blushed, her cheeks tinged pink.

"Of course."

He bought her a drink, and watched her lazily as she leaned forward, listening to what her friend was whispering in her ear. The friend departed moments later, leaving them alone together.

"You sure you're of legal age to be drinking?" He asked, draining his own drink. He didn't care in the slightest if she wasn't, except that he did not want to be caught getting a minor drunk except he didn't think minors were allowed in this party.

"Sure, I am," she replied, swirling the light blue liquid, a Capitol cocktail that Haymitch would never touch nor drink.

He wondered at that moment what it would take to acquire her company for the night.

"You must be someone special if you're here," he remarked. "A sponsor, maybe?"

She laughed, her hand fluttered up to cover her mouth daintily. "No, I'm not."

There were no further elaboration, no explanation to her presence here at the party or who she was. He decided that it didn't matter. Her parents were probably someone important in the Capitol, and the lesser he knew her the better. He wasn't here to make friends.

She lurched forward suddenly, her drink spilling on to the counter when a rowdy gentleman sporting the most hideous pink coat with gold glitters spattered all over it bumped into her.

"Sorry, my love," the man winked and disappeared into the crowd.

"Do you, maybe, want to go somewhere more private?" she asked, looking up at him as she wiped the liquid off her wrist with a napkin.

"Sure," he shrugged.

XxX

"So how old are you?"

"Has nobody ever told you it's rude to ask for a lady's age?"

"I don't care much for manners," he told her.

"I can tell," she took the bottle of liquor he held in his hand and took a gulp of it, coughing violently. "This is really strong! I've never had anything like this before. How could you stand to drink it?"

He laughed at her, not cruelly but more out of amusement. In his three years being forced in the company of people he hated, he had never met a Capitol girl like her. So brazen and yet restrained in a manner that he could not yet explain. He led her around the back of the mansion, passed a small garden overlooking a body of water not big enough to be called a lake and yet, not small enough to be named a pond.

"There's nobody here," she observed quietly.

"The heart of the party is at the ballroom in the mansion," he jerked his head towards where all the noises were coming from. "No one comes out here. You asked for private, this is private."

"I've never been to this party actually. This is my first. My father finally decided I'm old enough to attend," she explained, sitting down on the grass. "And look at me, talking to one of the most popular victor since Gabriel Smith."

Gabriel Smith was the victor of District Four who won ten years before Haymitch was reaped. Haymitch had never seen that man except on national television since Smith had long gave up his mentorship position to other victors from Four. He wished he had the luxury but he was the only living victor Twelve has.

He scowled. Haymitch had never relished his popularity before although he was keenly aware that he somehow has a persona which made him famous with the ladies of the Capitol and clearly, he was in the presence of one of those people.

They passed the bottle between themselves and he realised that he was beginning to enjoy this year's party. He doesn't talk although he felt that he should if he was going to get anywhere with this girl tonight. But he was contented to just sit there and share a bottle with a this stranger. She seemed like minded in that respect, not talking just passing the bottle back and forth, their fingers occasionally brushing against each other.

They managed to finish half the contents of the bottle when he turned to look at her. Her face was flushed from the alcohol but she had told him earlier that she wasn't drunk. The moon made her hair looked glossy and her chest puffed out slightly as she rested her hand on the grass behind her. He stared unabashedly at her breasts, realising too late that he seemed to have developed a certain attraction to them and wondered what it would feel like beneath his palm. Her eyes were closed as she tilted her head up at the night sky, the music from the party a creating a soft hum around them.

She was pretty, undoubtedly, especially since she unlike the others, didn't look like a clown, and he was a teenage boy whose hormones were running rampant as he continued to stare at her.

Haymitch gulped.

_Don't think. Don't think too much._ Relying purely on his instincts coupled with the alcohol in his system, he made a split second decision – something that had saved his skin in the arena and he was sure will not fail him now – he leaned forward and kissed her.

Her eyes flew open in shock, her hands coming up to his chest to push him away but it was so light and so pathetic that Haymitch knew she didn't even meant it. He pressed his lips harder. She tasted of liquor, of the chocolates she must have eaten at the party and of something sweet, something that was just her.

Haymitch shifted so his body was covering hers, blocking the moon from her sight, his hands gripping on to her waist. She sighed, kissing him back with a fiery passion. Her lips on his were wreaking havoc on his mind. Haymitch pulled away for breath and sat back down on the grass patch. His chest rose and fell in quick succession. He was glad he had brought her here where no one would stumble upon them. Haymitch was overwhelmed by the need to have her and touch her, to see her naked breasts and run his hands over her skin, and the tightening in his pants was testament enough to that.

He was still struggling to force air into his lungs when she straddled him, throwing her legs on either side of him. Haymitch looked at her and she smiled back almost shyly but with a certain determination glittering in her green eyes. Naïve and so bold, and extremely appealing. Haymitch swallowed audibly - giddy with excitement although feeling slightly apprehensive.

She kissed him, their teeth clashing against each other, his tongue exploring her mouth before she pulled away and latched her lips on his neck. The need he felt earlier intensified in him. He needed to see her without her clothes on, to feel her warm skin as he run his hands over them, and to see her breasts, of course. He tried pushing the strap off her right shoulder but it didn't move and as she kissed him, his hand roamed her back, looking for a zipper or anything at all that would help him remove the annoying garment. While she looked pretty in it, he was sure she would look even prettier without.

When she sensed his difficulty, she pulled back, and reached behind. Haymitch watched her with an almost greedy, hot intense gaze, his own hand quickly working on the buttons of his shirt.

The dress came off slowly, and it pooled at her waist, stuck there until she got up and shimmied out of it. He reached out for her hand to pull her back down so that she was once again straddling him.

"What if someone sees us?" she whispered worriedly, looping her arms around his neck.

"No one comes here," he told her, running his hand up her arm, to her neck, down across her chest and finally resting on her bra-clad breasts. He pushed the bra up and released a perky breast, taking one pink supple nipple in his mouth where it hardened deliciously.

"You are more than I imagined," she said breathlessly.

Haymitch smirked. "Thought about me often, didn't you? Must be your lucky night."

"And as arrogant as I knew you would be," she muttered.

His only respond was to pull her panties down, boldly touching her in between her thighs. She gasped. Spurred by the way her nails were lightly scraping the base of his neck, he dipped a finger in, making her groan. Haymitch began pumping into her, crooking his finger in just the right manner to make her hip buck. This wasn't new to him; he's had plenty of women throwing himself at him since he was crowned a Victor although he had never once taken them away from a party to share a quiet comfortable moment sharing a drink. She was the only one.

Soon, his pants came undone; her hands around him did nothing to lessen the throbbing. She pushed him back so that he was lying on his back, the thick blade of the artificial grass poking against his skin. He knew what she wanted as soon as she tugged gently on his erection and guided it to her entrance. Haymitch pulled his finger out but continued to lightly rub her clit. She lowered herself on him with a delighted moan and he grunted, his fingers digging into her waist, holding her in place.

She was pretty. The thought had crossed his mind for the umpteenth time that night.

Unable to stop himself, Haymitch raised his hip, pushing himself deeper in her slick warmth folds. She got the hint somehow and they began to move, his hip thrusting up to her as she moved up and down, keeping a pace they both enjoyed. They said little; only indiscernible sounds escaped their lips, their bodies heaving together. She anchored herself, her perfectly manicure nails digging painfully into his shoulder as she rode him.

Her hair was a mess, the pins holding it together had long failed to do its job. She swept her hair to one side, over her shoulder and as she leaned forward, she buried her face on the crook of his neck, sucking and licking his ear lobe. Her breasts were pressing against his chest, skin to skin. He felt something building inside him, something threatening to burst free so he kept thrusting into her, grunting shamelessly. He encouraged the same from her as he urged her to go faster, to increase her speed. Haymitch was pleasantly surprised when she indulged him. This clearly wasn't her first sexual endeavour that much he could tell.

Pushing all his thoughts aside, he let instincts take over. His thumb found her clit and he rubbed it roughly, watching her face with interest as her mouth fell open in an undisguised pleasure. The pressure continued building higher and higher as she rocked on his balls, moving up and down his length, faster and faster, and he thrust himself deeper into her before finally stars exploded behind his eyes and she collapsed on top of him.

XxX

Haymitch lost track of time.

He was still trying to catch his breath, staring straight ahead into the night sky. Next to him, she was slowly pushing herself off the ground, looking for her dress. He turned his head, watching with a mild fascination as the smooth skin disappeared little by little as her dress once again covered her.

"We should go," she whispered. "I think the party's over. The music's stopped."

She gestured to her ear and out towards the mansion behind them. That was when he noticed that she was right. There were no music and it was quiet out here. In the distance, he could hear people chatting; see shadows of people moving as the last party-goers trickled out of Snow's mansion.

Once he was dressed, they made their way out. Their hands were linked, somehow. He had no idea who initiated it but it felt nice so he didn't say anything. The biting cold wind made her shiver slightly and there weren't much protection in the form of her dress so Haymitch had draped her shoulders with his jacket. They were the last one out and the peacekeepers stationed at the tall, iron wrought gate of the President's mansion nodded at them.

He hailed a taxi for her after she told him that her father had probably left the party with his own friends. She had sounded disheartened when she said it but had quickly shook her head and sounded as cheery as she had all night.

"Keep the jacket. I don't need it," he said, opening the door for her. He had fucked her, they had a good time, he had enjoyed her company immensely and that was the least he could do.

"Will I see you again – here at next year's party?" she asked, biting her lip and looking at him bashfully.

Haymitch shrugged. "Maybe."

That seemed good enough for her. She stood on tiptoes; her heels held between two fingers in her hand, and pressed a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

"I don't really like saying goodbye. So, see you next year!"

She slid into the taxi and Haymitch watched as she disappeared from view.

XxX

He was convinced he was mad because when next year's party rolled around, he was there at the bar a bundle of jittery nerves. He shouldn't be doing this. He was from the district and she was a Capitol girl. _For goodness sake Haymitch, you're supposed to hate her and everything she stands for._

The worst was the guilt. It felt like he was betraying the memory of his girl. She was dead and he was supposed to be mourning for her. Not here waiting for another girl and thinking about what they could be doing tonight. It felt wrong. Very wrong.

And yet, he waited. And he drank. And he waited until his vision began to blur because the drinks kept coming and he kept drinking without restraint. The longer the party wore on, the more he drank.

He was staring at the floor, captivated by his own shoelaces when a golden pair of heels came into his view. He dragged his eyes up the smooth slender legs to take in the horrendous green the woman was dressed in. Her face was caked with pale white powder and if it wasn't for the fake lashes, or the blusher on her cheekbones, he would have thought she was a corpse.

"Hello there, Haymitch," she said, her Capitol accent stressing all the wrong vowels and her voice was making him cringe.

"Go away," he slurred, his tongue thick and it felt like lead.

"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked undeterred. It sounded almost playful and teasing.

"Not you, you clown. So you can go back to wherever you came from."

She stepped in front of him but he's already had enough and he decided that Euphemia wasn't going to turn up so he pushed past her to find the boy holding on to the guest list.

He stumbled around as he bumped into people dancing wildly, so focused on his destination he didn't catch the slightly panic voice calling out for him – "it's me."

It turns out there were five Euphemias on the guests list and he nearly wanted to strangle himself. She had never told him her last name.

XxX

It was 7 years later and at the young age of 26, he had already long earned the reputation as the district drunk.

He had showed up at the Reaping late and when the girl's name was called out, he realised that there was something different about the escort that year. Her voice was shrill and piercing to his ears with a certain enthusiasm to it unlike the usual escort whose false cheeriness always that made him sick to the stomach.

He was emptying the contents of said stomach in the washroom of the Justice Building when the time came for the tributes to say goodbyes to their family. He never had the chance to talk to the new escort until the train ride later.

That night, Haymitch stumbled his way through the train, his hand holding on to the walls to support himself. The door to her room was open so he staggered in. He was already unsteady on his feet and the train swaying and rocking was not helping him at all. She was there to catch him when he nearly lost balance as the train lurched forward.

"You reek of alcohol."

"No shit, sweetheart."

He gripped on to the door, resting his head against the soft polished wood.

"So you're the new angel of death?" he asked.

"My name's Effie," she replied tersely, fumbling with the various bottles of lotions on her vanity, arranging them neatly in a line. "Effie Trinket. And you should address me appropriately."

He scoffed and turned to leave. But something in her room had caught his attention. He reached forward blindly towards the wardrobe where her suitcase had been thrown open. The clothes he assumed she was going to wear tomorrow had been hung neatly on the hanger and in front of the blue dress was a jacket.

_His jacket._

The one he wore 7 years ago; the one he gave to the girl he met.

"Where'd you get this?" he demanded, suddenly alert and awake.

"It was given to me."

He shook his head. "No, no it can't be. Where the hell did you get this?"

"Someone gave it to me!" she snapped at him, annoyed. She reached out for it but he held it away from her.

"No. You don't understand," Haymitch said. "This is mine. I gave it to someone years ago - a girl by the name of Euphemia. Did you buy this from her? At an auction or something? A Victor's jacket probably had some worth. The girl you bought it from, where is she? Do you know who she is?"

"Haymitch, it was given to me," she stressed for the third time that night.

"It wasn't given to you!" he shouted suddenly. "I didn't give this to you! I gave it to -"

He stared at Effie. Haymitch took in her appearance – the lavender wig, the fake eyelashes, the violet irises of her eyes, her pale powdered face – and another face swam up in his foggy memories. This was the girl who had approached him while he had waited for another 6 years ago. This wasn't Euphemia.

He reached out with an almost morbid sense of curiousity and tugged on her wig. Her own hand reached up to pull out the pins holding the wig in place and her silky soft blonde hair tumble down. He ran his fingers through it and it felt exactly the same as it did years ago.

"Your eyes," he said softly.

"Contacts," she replied and moved to take them off. Her natural olive green eyes caught his at the vanity mirror. He sucked in a breath.

"It's you."

"I came for you the year after but you didn't recognise me at all."

"How the fuck was I supposed to with all that garbage you had on your face?" he retorted.

She tore her gaze away, looking down on the floor, wringing her hands together.

"A month after I met you, I began preparatory school for … escort selection. They taught me how to make myself beautiful and –"

"You're not her. You're not the girl I met. _She _was beautiful," he said. "She was pretty. You're not. You're just a …"

Haymitch gestured at her, at all the beauty products she had on the vanity, at the fancy dress in her wardrobe and at the wigs she had lined up carefully. Her eyes shimmered and dimmed.

"You're not the same boy I met at the party either. You're a drunk," she whispered.

Effie shed a tear. Haymitch spun on his heels and left the room.

XxX

They never talked about the night they had spent together. But Haymitch had never forgotten the way she made him feel that night. So alive and for a whole year, he had something to hold on to, to look forward to during the dreaded Capitol party he was obligated to attend. The thought of being able to see her again made him forget for a second all the people who had died because of him and reminded him what it was like to be with someone if only for a moment.

He didn't know it now, but during the 74th Hunger Games, he would remember that night so vividly and all the feelings it brought, how that young foolish Haymitch had sneaked out with a girl at the party and felt hopeful, and he would sell that story to Seneca Crane to save his tributes. He may not be in love with Effie Trinket but he had a vague notion of young love and all the foolish hope it brought.

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I hope this was okay. :/ Reviews? It turns out a bit angsty at the end & I don't know, I'm sorry.

I was too lazy to think of a title so since this is a one-shot that contains smut, I'm filing it under Ardent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Birthday**

The old grandfather clock in the parlour chimed loudly. The unwelcomed deafening sound reverberating throughout the house woke him up from his sleep. Haymitch hated that clock. Effie had brought it over from her apartment in the Capitol when she moved in and had thrown quite a fit when she caught Haymitch dragging it out of the back door in an attempt to get rid of the offending item.

With his face pressed against the pillow, Haymitch counted the number of chimes silently in his head. _Ten - should probably get up. _The house was quiet save for the quaking of his geese. It wasn't such a strange occurrence. He was used to waking up to an empty house despite having Effie moved in just shy of six months ago.

She had probably gone off somewhere in District Twelve. He noticed how she could hardly stay put at home, preferring to spend her time outside doing something, refusing to slow down and stop moving. Effie was a familiar face in Twelve. The locals were used to seeing her around when she visited Haymitch before she relocated permanently. After a long, difficult road over a period of several years, they finally managed to somehow forgive her for her past transgression against their children; now they treated her as one of their own. And it was that acceptance that finally made her moved in with Haymitch to Twelve.

Haymitch went down to the geese pen and saw that the in the distance, the Mellark's house looked empty. He wondered where the kids had gone off to. With a sigh, Haymitch sat on an old three legged stool to watch his geese, bringing a bottle of whiskey to his lips every once in a while.

It was past noon when he heard the front door open. He knew who it was even before he heard her voice.

"Haymitch," Effie's voice sliced through the silence that had cloaked the house. "Hay – oh there you! Why are you not ready yet?"

"Ready for what? Are we going somewhere?" he scrunched his face, trying to recall if Effie had mentioned anything the night before.

"Haymitch," she huffed impatiently, "I told you yesterday, didn't I?"

"I remember nothing, Eff."

Still, he got up and followed her to the bedroom where he finally noticed the pressed suit Effie had hung outside the wardrobe. He had missed it that morning, bleary from his lack of sleep and irritated with that absurd clock. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"No," he shook his head, "too fancy."

"It's not too fancy where we're going."

"And where are we going?"

"Somewhere. You trust me don't you?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, refusing to give in to her. There was no way he would willingly wear that suffocating piece of garbage. He much preferred his rather laid back style of dressing – the button down shirt and pants. Effie had already taken off her blue knee length dress she wore from that morning and was holding up a two piece orange dress, one that he had no idea she owned.

She glanced at him briefly, "well, aren't you going to change?", she asked, before turning towards the full length mirror he had mounted on the wall solely for her benefit. Effie held the top blouse next to her own body, turning this way and that to see how she would look like.

He walked up silently behind her. His hands roamed her back as his fingers expertly worked on the clasp of her bra. He unclasped it and pushed the strap off her shoulder. Haymitch dropped a kiss to her shoulder as his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back to him. Meeting her gaze in the mirror, he whispered huskily against her skin, "I'm not, but I can be persuaded."

Effie shuddered and her skin prickled in response. His hand glided up her ribcage to cup her breast, the other gently resting on her waist.

"We don't really have time for this," Effie tried to tell him even as she tilted her neck to the side, an unconscious gesture for Haymitch to continue his ministrations.

"You underestimate how fast I can go," he nipped her ear lobe gently. "Persuade me in five minutes and we'll see if I'll wear that suit."

It was a challenge and it worked beautifully. Effie disliked being challenged. She hated the implication that she may not be able to rise to the expectations. Turning around in his arms, she ran her hands over his toned chest, undoing the button of his shirt slowly from the top.

"I think I can persuade you in less," she told him, tiptoeing to give him a peck on his lips. It was a distraction because the next thing he knew, her hand had slipped past his boxers. The grip on her waist tightened instinctively and Effie smirked.

She went one step further. After the stroking and painful teasing Effie dropped to her knees in front of him and pulled his pants down. Haymitch gasped and bit on to his clenched fist as his hips buckled at the feel of her lips closing around him.

"Effie, no – oh lord," he exhaled, trying hard to control his breathing.

As he looked up, his eyes caught sight of them on the full length mirror. Haymitch's hand shot out against the wall to steady himself as Effie continued doing extremely pleasant things to him. From their reflection, he watched the movement of her head. He couldn't see her face because her back was to the mirror. Haymitch watched himself tangling his hand in her hair and he found himself enthralled at the sight of them. The way things were going, he was fast losing the challenge. He eyed the suit briefly and tried to convince himself that it was worth it. It had to be worth losing this to her.

XxX

"I can promise you so much more when we return," her eyes flickered teasingly to look at him, applying her lip gloss in front of the mirror.

Haymitch was struggling with his black tie when Effie had spoken. He paused, distracted. "Now?"

"When we get back, Haymitch," she repeated.

She smiled at him rather smugly, proud that she had managed to make him put on the suit. He looked handsome with that white fitted shirt tucked neatly into the waistband of his pants. When she had bought that shirt, Effie had bought it one size smaller on purpose. She loved seeing the garment stretched out across his chest when he moved his arm to reach out for something and it also accentuated his physique.

"Wish you'd shaved," she muttered quietly, her hands working deftly to fix his tie.

"Nah, you like me like this," he smirked, touching the stubble on his cheek. He brushed the lock of blond hair and attempted to tuck it behind her ear but the way she had put up her hair made it impossible to. His hand fluttered uselessly to her bare shoulders before moving to her back where more of her skin was exposed. He fingered the zipper and pulled it lower before Effie moved back, away from him, and shot him an amused look.

"Later," she mouthed.

They arrived at the Justice Building within half an hour. He wanted to ask what they were doing there but was distracted by Effie tugging on his hand towards the function room. The Justice Building had been transformed after the Rebellion to suit the needs of the community. It was a place where they hoped the community could come together to celebrate happy occasions as a society, to bury the previous horrors of standing under the hot sun as a whole for their children to be picked and sent to the gallows. There had been wedding ceremonies, baby showers and all sorts of celebrations held at the Justice Building since the past several years.

There was a spring to her steps as they walked down the hallway to the function room. Haymitch didn't suspect anything and was following her blindly, as he attempted to loosen his tie with one hand. Effie threw open the door in her excitement and Haymitch staggered back in surprise.

"Happy birthday!" the people in the room shouted.

He turned towards Effie, "it's my birthday?"

"You make planning a surprise party so much easier because you don't remember your own birthday," she smiled, giving him a light kiss, "you never suspected a thing, too!"

He stepped into the room, looking pleasantly taken aback. Haymitch smiled sheepishly. In all his years, he never had a party thrown for him. Why would he? His family couldn't afford it and subsequently, as a Victor he spent his birthdays drunk out of his mind with a random woman or another. Eventually, he found that his birthday was no different from any other days he spent inebriated and it blended into the background over the years.

Haymitch rubbed the back of his head, feeling slightly uncomfortable and out of place. He hated parties; it reminded him too much of the Capitol. But Effie would have thought that this was exactly the way to celebrate a birthday – extravagant and loud. He wouldn't mind them spending their time together. At home, preferably, drinking wine with her curled around him. But for her sake, and the effort she had put in, he kept the smile on his face.

She nudged him into the centre of the room where he saw his closest friends in attendance. There was Plutarch with a plate of cake - "Don't worry this isn't your birthday cake! – Katniss and Peeta, Annie, Johanna and a few other men he had socialise with at the bar. Hearing Plutarch's comment, Peeta had been quick to assure him that the birthday cake was safe.

"Oh, I get a cake, too," he commented dryly.

"Of course, you do. What's a birthday without a cake?" he heard Effie chimed in. "And Peeta's cake is beautiful."

That would explain the reason Peeta and Katniss' house was empty that morning. The two of them together with Effie had probably been busy making sure everything was in place. True to what she said, the cake was beautiful, not that he would admit it. When Peeta brought the cake out, Haymitch had propped his hand on his hips and shook his head. It was shaped like a whiskey bottle and frosted carefully with practiced hands.

"Never had a cake before," he told Effie, "and if you ask me to blow out candles, Eff, I'll send you back to the Capitol."

One thing he would admit was that the party was nice. It was a small gathering, nothing as fancy as the parties he had attended before at the Capitol. They drank and talk, spending the night catching up on each other's life and the development happening all over Panem, they ate and dance although Haymitch dance reluctantly after much cajoling from Effie. It was a good celebration especially since Effie said nothing about the number of glasses of whiskey he drank that night. Johanna's voice rose above the music as she threatened Plutarch with bodily injury should he stepped on her foot once more. He could hear the crowd laughing at the pair. His hand held Effie's close to his heart as they swayed gently to the music and over Effie's shoulder, Haymitch saw Annie cutting the dance short, saving Johanna the pain of dancing with Plutarch.

As the night grew, his old friend became unsteady on his feet. Plutarch drunkenly announced that it was time for a group photo. Haymitch groaned when he saw Plutarch took out a camera from his pocket. He tried to escape, moving stealthily towards the front door but he wasn't quick enough for Effie. She saw him and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back towards her.

Turning around in his feet, Plutarch aimed the camera at the pair.

"Hurry Haymitch, smile," Effie instructed. She put her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. He looked down the top of her head and inhaled the smell of her shampoo. Haymitch wrapped his own arm automatically around her torso, drawing her closer to him. There were a lot of things that Haymitch kept to himself, things that he never told Effie because he felt too foolish. He never mentioned how he thought she fit perfectly next to him; that without her heels, she was the perfect height for him to put his arms around her shoulders; that when she laughed, he felt funny where his heart should be.

He wanted to believe that he was one of the few people who really knew her. Right now, Haymitch knew that she was delighted over how the whole event had turned out. It was a small wonder why she was so eager to persuade him into the damn suit. He smirked knowing that if he had stood his ground and refused to change, it would jeopardize her plans.

The smirk was still in place when he looked up at Plutarch as the camera went off. He blinked at the bright flash. In his disorientation, Effie untangled herself from him and looped her arms around his neck, with a silly smile plastered on her face. His hand gently held her waist as he tilted his head slightly to the side, leaning forward to kiss her lips after making sure that no one was looking at them. The rest of the group were too busy trying to figure out how the timer on the camera worked, determined to have a group shot before the night was over.

"Happy birthday, my love," she spoke quietly.

"Don't forget about that "later" you promised me earlier."

She laughed and buried her face in his chest. He held her tight and looked out towards the group of people he called friends, deciding that perhaps it was time he stopped shying away from those people. No one was threatening to kill his loved ones any longer. It was time to embrace the life he had been given. If he had learnt anything today, it was that he wasn't getting any younger.

"Later" never came because much to his annoyance, Plutarch was in no state to return back to the Capitol on his own. Effie, nice and kind as always, had offered for Plutarch to stay the night at their home.

* * *

**There is actually an accompanying picture for this Fic. You could see it on my tumblr (allonsysilvertongue). Been wanting to write something based on that picture & finally found the perfect occasion. This fic is also inspired by the fact that today's Woody Harrelson's birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!**


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